


My Dear Boy. - One-shot

by raccodactyl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, deputy dutch, hoagy macintosh, physical altercation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18579598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccodactyl/pseuds/raccodactyl
Summary: Request:  hey sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you’d mind doing a male reader and Dutch with similar themes as your recent Arthur thank you for your time and I love all your work!!! (also have a nice day/night!)Summary: Dutch bursts in to break you out from a fight.Note: Request sent in just after I’ve Got You came in so I’m gonna assume that’s what you were referring to. Dutch really needs more x male!reader fics so I’m so happy to provide. Would love to see more.CW: Period-typical homophobia, homophobic slurs





	My Dear Boy. - One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr 26 March

You were just minding your own business, trying to relax after your supper in the Rhodes Parlor House when men began to give you trouble. It started in passing, them calling you names over the blackjack table, but soon it grew more severe. **  
**

“Seems you’re just unlucky, pretty boy,” one of the mean taunted.

You bit your lip, the name making you want to clock the guy, and he definitely took notice.

“Oh-ho-ho, you didn’t like that one, did ya,” he said with a snicker, “Maybe I spoke some truth.”

“Lay off,” you grumbled, tapping your foot in your agitated state, but it was only giving him what he wanted.

“Seems I really struck a nerve. Don’t get too worked up now, don’t want you hurting yourself now.”

You stood up from your chair and gave a shove to the man’s chest, “You say something, say it to my face.”

“I like a boy with some fight,” he smirked as he stood up, “Makes it a bit more fun than when they just sit there and take it.”

He was up and standing for only half a second when you brought your knuckles to his jaw in a hard punch and only a second went by before the two of you were fighting, shouts of other bar patrons surrounding you and desperate pleas for you to stop coming from the dealer.

You didn’t realize just how much the two of you were moving until you were a foot away from the stairs. A devilish smirk came upon the opposing man’s face, and without any chance to defend yourself, he was spartan kicking you down the spiral staircase, leaving you to fall headfirst.

You were in severe pain, blood coming from different cuts all over your body. The bastard wore a sharp ring that left deep marks and cuts. He came down the stairs as you tried to stand yourself up again but the amount of pain you were in was unbearable, leaving you just attempt to back away with the last amount of fight you had left.  

Just when you thought you were about to get the life beat out of you, a loud voice burst through the door, “What the hell is going on here?”

You looked up to see Dutch, badge on his breast and guns drawn and pointed at the attacker, “Deputy Macintosh. Step away and get the hell out of here.”

The man backed away, shaking his head. “Goddamn faggot, can’t even handle a fight he started,” he said under his breath.

“Care to speak up,” Dutch said, a stern look on his face.

“Nothing that matters to you, deputy,” he responded mockingly.

Without another word, Dutch grabbed the man by the back of the shirt and dragged him out the front door, tossing him don’t the short set of stairs and into the dirt, “We don’t tolerate that behavior in this town.”

Dutch rubbed this hands together before returning to you, lending you a hand to help you up which you gladly accepted. He nodded towards the bartender before taking your arm and keeping it over his shoulders to support you.

He took you outside and mounted the Count. You went to get on your horse but he quickly stopped you, “I won’t have you riding by yourself in this state. Come ‘ere.”

He stuck his hand out towards you and you took it, him helping you lift yourself up. The Count fussed for a moment but Dutch quickly calmed him down and called your horse to follow. You wrapped your arms around him loosely but he pulled you closer, keeping you pressed tight against his back. He rode at a moderate pace and took you back to camp, letting you catch your breath and relax to the even trots of the horse. The colors of the sky grew colder as dusk turned to night.

Your relationship with Dutch was complicated. The two of you never outright discussed your standings with each other, but it was a commitment. The two of you had shared countless nights in his tent together, simply drinking and talking and maybe, oh maybe, on most of those nights, he’d invite you to stay, offer you a spot with him on his cot. Maybe you’d curl up in his arms and fall asleep pressed to his chest. Maybe he’d stay in bed with you until you woke up on the chill mornings of early summer.

Dutch wasn’t a subtle man. The other members of the gang knew not to try anything with either of you. He was affectionate and possessive with you, but nothing outright romantic either. It seemed the others had a better grasp on your relationship than you did. Dutch knew you, knew you were shy in that regard, but he would wait years if it meant you finally making a move. How you wished you could just work up the courage to kiss the bottom half of his face.

The Count slowed and it made you come out from your daydreams. Dutch swung his leg over and hopped down before helping you off, supporting you on the short walk to his tent. Susan came over, a concerned look on her face as she saw the cuts on your face, but Dutch waved her a way, giving a quick, “I can handle it,” before sitting you down on his clot and closing the flaps of his tent.

He dug out the first aid kit from under his cot and kneeled between your legs, looking up at you as he cleaned the cut on your eyebrow with an alcohol-doused rag. You winced, biting your lip and he flashed you a sad smile.

“I’m sorry it hurts, my dear,” he consoled, “You got hit pretty hard. This cut on your eyebrow is gonna leave quite the scar.”

“No shit,” you smirked back, him letting out a little chuckle. “Hurts like a bitch. Bastard was wearing rings.”

“I can sense that. What the hell did you do to get into a fight like that?”

“He started it!” you deflected, “Started out as just joking around the table and soon he was saying shit that crossed the line.”

“I’d understand a bit more if it was Bill that got in a fight,” he replied honestly, “You’re probably the most level-headed of us. Wouldn’t take you as the type to get mad over something like that.”

“He wasn’t just saying I was shit at cards,” you clarified, “He started going after me. Said something that struck a nerve. Don’t know if you heard what he called me in the saloon, but let’s just say I’m sensitive to insults such as those.”

“Now I get it,” he nodded as he discarded the dirty rag and picked up a bottle, having you take a swig to relieve a bit of the pain.

He was quiet as he began to unbutton your shirt, looking over your chest and back to see the darkening bruises that were littered over your skin. You looked towards your toes as he scanned over your body. There were a thousand things you wish you could say to him and yet you just couldn’t bring yourself to.

After a few moments, his fingers came under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “Something’s on your mind. Talk to me.”

His thumb stroked over the tender spots on your jaw as you thought of a response but your mouth seemed to go dry. You shook your head, trying to think of something decent to deflect with, but you were blank, seeming to lose not just your train of thought, but every single railway they ran on.

“Just… I don’t know. He just got into my head. Made me act out. I’m sorry, Dutch,” you let out.

“No need to apologize,” he replied, his tone gentle and comforting. “I don’t want to push, but what exactly did he call you to really push your buttons?”

You let out a sigh. “Prettyboy,” you grumbled.

He let out a chuckle and you furrowed your brow.

“Well,” he began, “My dear boy, you are quite pretty if I do say so myself. Although I have always preferred the word ‘handsome.’ Maybe that’s just me.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t stop the little smile that tugged at your lips. His tone got a bit more serious, “But no, it wasn’t right of him to do that and I would’ve hit the bastard too.”

There was a soft look in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. You looked down to where he kneeled before you taking him all in and just thinking about the situation you had landed yourself in. Without warning, you dropped to your knees from the bed and just hugged him, your face burying into the crook of his neck. He took a second before wrapping his arms around your bare torso, holding you just tight enough to keep from irritating your injured skin. You closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of being in his grasp. You stayed in that position for longer than you’d like to admit.

You pulled away and his eyes found yours once again. Your face was flush from the heat and brushed his hand over your reddened cheeks. His hand moved to brush your hair back and he subtly bit the inside of his lip.

“I can’t take this anymore,” you whispered more to yourself than him.

You placed your hand on his jaw and brought his lips to yours, his mustache tickling your upper lip and the taste of smoke and coffee heavy on his. He responded instantly, smiling at first before moving in tangent as you finally broke the tension.

You pulled away after a few moments and caught your breath. A smirk was on his face and his eyes scanned over your face.

“I’ve waited so damn long for you to do that,” he smiled, taking your hand and kissing your sore knuckles.

“Been wanting to for so damn long,” you replied, unable to pull the smile from your cheeks.

He stood you up and lead you with him, his knees cracking as he did so. He tilted your chin up once again to meet his gaze before bringing you into a second, more sure, kiss, this one lasting a bit longer than the first as neither of you could get enough of the feeling.

After you pulled apart, he shed himself of his vest, overshirt, and gunbelt before lying on the bed. You crawled in with him like you had so many nights before. He made sure you were comfortable, carefully adjusting himself to not be bugging any of your injuries. He was always mindful, and even if you weren’t hurt, he put your comfort before his own.

You settled in, resting your head on his shoulder and tucking your arms between the two of you as he ran his fingers through your hair. His breathing grew deeper and his motions slowed as he got the rest he so desperately needed and you followed close behind. Neither of you slept better than you did with each other and you could never quite place why. No matter, though, as long as it worked, it was what you would do.


End file.
